


Life of Death: Be Our Guest

by Rurikredwolf



Series: Life of Death: Be Our Guest [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, BeOurGuest, Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Humor, LifeofDeath, Reaper - Freeform, Undead, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rurikredwolf/pseuds/Rurikredwolf
Summary: Queen Azulia had always been a strange ally to Kyrik. Being the Queen of the Damned, she is known for her vain and self-serving ways. Despite this, she had always treated him with some respect. But now, she has insisted on Kyrik staying at her castle. What desires could she want from him, and better yet, why is she demanding he stay?Kyrik is about to find out why, and more, tonight.





	1. The Hatchday Massacre

One week. Jirmen only asked for one week to rest. Given the trauma and loss, it wasn’t much to request. 

Day one was spent sleeping. His body had been completely deprived of all magic, rendering him largely immobile. Every movement felt like stepping in fire. Sleep brought no rest for nightmares tormented him for hours upon hours. Every hour he would snap awake, mouth dried alongside throbbing eyes.

Day two was spent in the pools, where he replenished more of his strength. The mineral water did wonders not just for his magical abilities but for his age. Four hundred and thirty, yet he felt well over a thousand half the time. The soft tingling and warmth it radiated nearly lulled him to slumber more than once.

Day three, he finally returned to his tower in Falmari, the city of which he was the Archmage of. He’d ran the city for well over a hundred years, personally overseeing hundreds of would-be mages. Jirmen spent most of that day checking in on everyone. More for his sanity instead of theirs at this point; he needed to see that not everything had been lost.

Day four, he felt himself slowly returning. A portion of his powers returned, and everything had begun to spin into place. Most of his trusted staff had had been accounted for, including his current apprentice; Methir. The past few days would have been hell without her assistance.

Today was day five, and just as he thought it was going to end on a good - if not boring - note, he found himself staring at a nightmarish sight.

His left claw - which had the middle finger missing - had been slapped to his brown, furred face. The lycon – a race of bipedal canines – nearly sighed in frustration and exasperation for what felt like the twentieth time in five minutes. He kept blinking his golden eyes, almost wishing that he had fallen into a deep slumber once again.

Sadly, this was not the case.

“I think the reports had greatly understated the situation,” an amused hiss came from his left.

There, another bipedal creature known as a shriker stood. She strongly resembled a wingless dragon, although with sharper and spikier features. Purple skin instead of scales upon her. A set of crests instead of horns that had a black fin stretching down to her cheek. Coupled with the bulky, grey bio suit her species was forced to wear above ground, she seemed quite ruthless.

“I couldn’t tell, Methir.” Jirmen shook his head. “Oh, there was a weird light and reports of undead in the area. Neglected to mention an entire city block had gone up!”

Jimren wished he was exaggerating. He had arrived with a few of his guards alongside his apprentice, expecting to flush out a group of Necromancers. Good way to work out his aggression.

Instead he stood on the outskirts of a block that had been completely taken over in a sickly green haze. The brick and stone buildings were cloaked in shadows. Coupled what sounded like screeches, a panic erupted around them. Something that the city guard and Jirmen’s Magus – elite magi - had to manage alongside this.

Not to mention the ghostly apparition above them. Jirmen couldn’t quite make out what it was just yet, but it strongly resembled a serpent with scythe-like claws. If it was what he thought it meant, there was not enough alcohol in the world that could prepare him for what was to come.

Jirmen swirled around, his white cloak swishing behind him. Large crowd, not enough Magus. Someone was going to be foolish enough to try and rush the barriers to see what was going on. He would have no backup except for Methir going in. Thankfully, he was wise enough to bring some of his strongest to hold down the block. If something went bad, he had no doubts they would be able to hold off until Aur-

Sorrow stabbed him in the gut like a molten blade and nearly doubled over from it. He could feel water well up in his eyes as he stared at the ground. Right…there wouldn’t be any back up. Not anymore.

A comforting claw gently grabbed his shoulder. He glanced over to see Methir offering a comforting smile.

“I’m fine.” Jirmen gripped his silvery, runed staff harder. Pointing the orb-like tip at the block, it illuminated like a fog light. “Ready?”

“After what just happened, I’m more than.” Methir grinned optimistically.

Nodding, Jirmen lead the way inside. Shimmering armor formed over his black robes, shielding him from the mist. The runes on it had already activated, signifying its malignancy. He didn’t have to worry about his energy draining anytime soon, but it was Methir he worried about. Powerful in her own right, she still paled before his own. It didn’t help that she wasn’t the type of mention when she was low unless it was dire.

Refocusing, Jirmen let out a bitter snarl and cast a spell to mask their steps. What was left of his tail stood on end. His fur bristled, noting dark objects on the ground before him. His boots echoed with each step.

Sure enough, the object was what he thought it was; a body. A young dragon, eyes glassy and staring to the sky. Wings were unfurled and the wounds indicated he had crashed. Dead for approximately ten minutes, if he had to guess. It always stung to see someone this young dead.

Raising a claw, he summoned what looked like a tiny star and threw it at the body. As it connected, dark flame began to eat away at it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Methir do the same to another body.

“We sure it’s a necromancer?” She questioned.

“It’s not.” Jirmen heard something from up again. Sluggish, like it was dragging something heavy.

“…Are we sure it’s not Azulia?”

“Azulia would have simply shown up if she wanted our attention, or handled it on her own if it was one of her former subjects.” Jirmen motioned for her to step closer to him. “Look up. What does that look like?”

Although he could not see her face through the face mask she now wore, the way her body stood rigid told him everything.

“No…” She whispered. “That’s not possible.”

“I’m hoping it’s a trick too.” Jirmen scowled. “However, we have a more immediate problem.”

He indicated ahead, where three reanimated corpses slouched toward them. They were held together by what felt like a contradiction. The magic used was minimal, but whoever had done it had done it so expertly that a simple reversal wouldn’t work. They had to do it the old-fashioned way from the looks of it.

In a way, he was happy. He had been so defeated these past few days that burning a few Necrolites was sure to bring something resembling a smile to his face again.

“Stand back.” He ordered Methir.

“Stealing all the fun again?” She teased as he slammed his staff into the ground.

“Always.” He felt his muzzle tug.

A purple-white wave of pure magic launched itself at the Necrolites. Everything in its path was thrown to the side or collected as it increased in velocity, slamming into the corpses. He could hear their bones shattering as a scream escaped their maws. Jirmen’s eyes narrowed; it sounded like pain.

Thewp!

Another Necrolite, which had come up from the alley to his right, was burned with a bolt of electricity.

“Dunno how we missed that one,” Methir’s claws stopped glowing. “Maybe we’re getting older.”

“You’re not even sixty yet. You got another hundred before you start complaining.” Jirmen muttered, investigating the corpse. “Tell me, what did this one try and do?”

“Uh…reach out?” Methir seemed puzzled by his question. “I mean, isn’t that how they attack?”

“Yes, but…” Jirmen held his staff to the corpse. “Dammit.”

“What now?”

“They aren’t Necrolites.” Jirmen examined the body closer. “Necrolites are dead bodies that don’t have a soul; these do.”

“So they’re watching their own bodies rot.” Methir shivered, tail snapping like a whip on the ground. Jirmen confirmed solemnly. “Can we release them, then?”

“Once we get to the source, yes. I don’t have the magic to spare for a separation ritual if we are to fight. This is one of the most complex fusions I have seen, and I think we can finally confirm what we are up against.”

“Reaper?” Methir asked uneasily.

“Reaper.” Jirmen answered gloomily.

Jirmen didn’t really want to admit it, but the evidence was clear. He felt his claw curled as his stomach twisted into knots. One week; that’s all he wanted. One week to grieve and recover.

“Master?” Methir asked quietly.

“We’re not going to be able to take it on directly.” Jirmen announced. “I’m too weak for that.”

“Then what can we do?”

“I’m working on it.”

Opening his claw again, he created an orb of light. Spectral steps illuminated the way before them, leading into a brick building across the way. It should, in theory, lead them straight to the reaper.

The door creaked open as a heater hissed steam at them. Sometimes, he forgot the outside world was being forced to utilize non-magical technology. Most of it noisy with no fluidity to it. Others were downright pointless, such as the time someone tried to create ‘diet water’. 

Shaking his head, he ran his eyes over the bodies that lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairwell. Some hung over the sides while most crumpled in the corners. They tried to leave in a hurry, it looked like. It must have been a powerful reaper to cause the mist to move so fast.

Each step on the stairs filled him with more and more dread. It was impossible to kill a reaper; at least, not in this plane of existence. It was a long, complicated process that he hoped he wouldn’t have to do. Perhaps the reaper was not the cause of this, and was instead here to investigate. As backwards as that theory was, he found himself deluding the thought of a fight.

Best he could do was hope was to banish it back to the spirit realm. Let the other reapers deal with the rogue. They were supposed to be guardians, to maintain a balance in the world. Yet, as he found out over the past few years, they weren’t infallible. Much like ‘mortals’, they had their vices.

“Should I take the third floor just in case?” Methir stepped around the body of a smaller dragon. Maybe what…eleven?

“No.” Jirmen said a bit too quickly. The orb had begun to fade, as if it were unable to track it properly anymore.

She noticed. “You sure?”

“We’re the only two here. I’m not having you run into the reaper and not know what to do.”

“…Alright.”

 

More corpses awaited them at the second floor. Jirmen could feel their souls crying out from inside their shells. The green haze intensified, swirling around like a thick blanket. Light travelled less than five meters. Shadows gave the illusion of creatures stalking. An odd scent filled the air; rotten yet with some flowery odor – another contradiction.

Third floor held nothing except more Necrolites. Something he noticed, however, was that they didn’t attack them. Instead, they turned their vacant gaze to watch movements. Garbled speech, but the confusion was clear. Maybe, just maybe, there would be a way to reverse the damage here. They haven’t been dead long, and magic was a fickle thing.

Perhaps he was an old fool, projecting hope when there was none.

The fourth floor caused the steps to appear once again. Only, this time they faded halfway down the hall. They both didn’t need it anymore as right where it ended, a massive explosion had taken out three apartments. The mist restricted vision to about three meters ahead of them.

Stepping into the rubble, Jirmen saw the bodies were different here. The side that was facing the explosion was skeletonized, leaving their insides to stain the ground. His fangs bared, he searched the environment. It was close, but he couldn’t tell where.

The middle apartment is where he felt the crushing weight. Crouching lower to avoid debris, a tapestry fell before him; its colorful message faded with the words ‘Happy Hatchday, Kyrik!’ All around were strewn about gifts; mostly toys. A stuffed animal lay with its cotton spilling out. Near it, a white skull-like mask. He’d guess this Kyrik must have been in the seven to nine age range. 

“Look,” Methir pointed forward.

In the thickest parts of the mist, he saw three shapes. Two were draconic, standing on shaky legs. The other was a small ball, a glowing bright-green light flickering from it. It was the reaper, of that Jirmen was certain.

“Stay behind me,” Jirmen gripped his staff with both claws this time. Each step was light, ready to leap or sprint at any notice. At his approach, the two draconic shapes moved closer to the ball. He could see them clearer now; male and female.

His eyes drifted down, widening at the sight before him. A dragon no older than nine, curled into a ball. His eyes were shut, trembling in his mocha scales stained with blood. Looking at the draconic shapes, Jirmen saw resemblance to the hatchling; his parents. They were horrifically burned, held together by an unknown spectral fabric. Lingering parental instinct protected the hatchling from Jirmen.

The movement caused the dragon to leap up and stare at them with wide, frightened peridot eyes. Lower jaw trembling, posture low with back raised. Spines flared up in terror. Horror dawned upon Jirmen when he realized that the light - and the source of this destruction - came from this frightened little hatchling who was more scared of them than they of him.


	2. The Invitation

The library appeared to go on for rows upon rows. Two floors with a massive staircase in the center. Books ranging from physiology to the arcane overwhelmed Kyrik; it was almost impossible to find what he was looking for without reexamining the shelves thrice. His mocha wings almost screamed in exhaustion, having been used far too much in one day. Flight was no problem, hovering was.

In his claw, a silvery light illuminated the darkness. It didn’t do much in some areas, where it the shadows encroached upon him. Given where he was, this didn’t surprise him. In the darkness, he could hear clawsteps. They did not approach; much like he, they minded their own business. Had he been anyone else, it may have been a different story.

Kyrik’s claw rubbed his peridot eyes in exhaustion. It felt like he was here for such a long time. The small, cream-scaled dragon moved along the polished wooden floor, brown colored talons clicking. Where was it? The owner of this place was bound to have something. She was quite the collector, after all!

“Sneaking into my castle again, Kyrik?” A low growl broke the silence above Kyrik.

The sudden break in focus made him jump, bounding away slightly with his bladed tail raised defensively. Upon seeing who had spoken, his expression softened. Not that anyone could tell past his skull mask.

She was as beautiful as she was terrifying, with scales like the whitest snow and horns the darkest of nights. Pearly white fangs long as daggers glistened in the faded lights. Heavy crimson wings draped around her like a cloak. Her neck and horns were ordained with the finest of jewelry, while a steely black tiara that resembled gothic clock arm rested upon her head.

“The door was open,” Kyrik’s eyes darted back and forth.

Her glowing, crimson eyes narrowed as a taut smile crossed her gaunt muzzle. A long time ago, she used to be a dragon like himself. Now, sharp flesh-like spikes covered a good portion of her body. Ear frills elongated and pointed. A closer look at her body revealed that while it was animated, whatever life it once held had long been extinguished.

Queen Azulia – or, as she was also called, the Queen of the Damned - was someone that demanded respect. And Kyrik had just done the opposite by walking into her home without an invitation. For the third time.

This month.

“You are lucky I find you endearing.” Azulia’s softer tone still sent shivers down his spine. “What is the occasion this time?”

“I need…answers,” Kyrik shifted before he nodded quietly.

“Is it about what happened a few months ago?” Her gaze flickered to the necklace around his neck. A silvery sickle rested gently against the base of his neck, the ‘blade’ laced with runes.

“You need not shy away, you know.” Azulia walked alongside him. The way she strode was akin to a graceful swan; head held high and filled with confidence. Kyrik’s lowered skulk made her appear three times his size. “How many, again?”

“Ten-thousand,” Kyrik looked up at her, “That’s how many souls I had to take that day not including her.”

There was something in the way her eyes ran across him. She was searching, but for what, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the first time she had done this, either. When he asked in the past, she never answered.

“Have you considered Ephiral’s influence?” She asked. “He had such a way of infecting little objects like what she found.”

“I did, but she mentioned stopping him.” Kyrik refuted. “I don’t know. I’m so lost.”

“My dear, you are exhausted.” She shushed him. “You need to rest; if you are to find your answers, you will not be able to process them.”

“I’m fine.” Kyrik waved his wing in protest.

“I insist.” Her tone was final, like an instructor at Falmari. “It is nearly dinner; won’t you stay the night?”

Angering the Queen of the Damned was not something Kyrik desired. He had been here many times in the past, never staying longer than a few hours at a time. Queen Azulia had not set out to harm him then, surely she would not strike now. He was at her mercy more times than not, and despite being powerful in his own right, he currently paled against her.

“Alright.” He accepted the invitation nervously.

Kyrik followed her down the long, winding halls of her castle. The architecture confused him at times; some parts were familiar from the last time he was here while others were quite different. Or in another location altogether. For example, a portrait of an unknown creature used to hang over a doorway. Now, it was on the wall three rooms away. Somehow bigger than last time, too.

More sights caught his eye as he stepped over the crimson carpets that begun to line the halls. Vampyrs like Azulia were not the only creatures here; Kyrik was only certain of one other. The ‘damned’ part came from the other types of undead that stalked the halls. Necrolites, freed from their cruel necromantic masters, bowed in respect. Ghosts and ghouls floated aimlessly through the halls, fading and reappearing as if venturing to another world.

The necklace Kyrik wore began to shimmer when he drew close and he had to grip it to get it to stop. The less who knew what he really was, the better. If only he remembered to bring a satchel!

In a strange way, Kyrik felt at home here. No one here was truly mortal, even if they could walk among them. Each was a creature of nightmare or myth, something that society would hunt and burn. Perhaps one day they could reintegrate in some way, but after what happened five years ago, that didn’t seem likely anytime soon.

Others were damned in another way. A dragon went by Kyrik, front legs melded with the wings; a wyvern. A disability that occurred once in a blue moon, seen as a curse in most locations. He had nothing wrong with him outside the physical, and yet he was all but banished until Azulia took him in.

Instead of the great hall, which Kyrik expected to dine in, Azulia veered off toward her private dorm. Why would they go there? Maybe she would help him with his problem and wanted to focus.

Azulia’s private dining hall was still expansive, with a long table and luxurious seats. It was here that she, and her two champions, no doubt would discuss…politics? Honestly, he had no idea what they talked about. Kyrik warily eyed the room; they were alone.

Except for the one he expected, anyway.

Much like the two of them, he resembled a dragon. What he truly was, Kyrik wasn’t sure. The body on him was withered, almost broken in a way. Pale like a vampyr but with golden eyes instead of crimson; they reminded Kyrik a bit of a fish. Scales were curved instead of triangular like them, too.

Despite looking ready to keel over, he moved with deftness and placed down a plate effortlessly. He knew just the way to slide it so it wouldn’t fall off; something like that should have been impossible for his body.

“How did you know I was here?” Kyrik asked when he examined the meal. Seasoned meat mixed in with some of his favorite fruits and vegetables. Some that he never exposed his interest in to them.

“It is not often my queen ventures out on her own,” The dragon said in a rattling voice. “You are one of three she will meet personally without being summoned. It was not hard to guess.”

“But how did you know what I like to eat, Witherwing?” Kyrik pressed. Witherwing was not the true name of him, but only Azulia knew what it was. Witherwing was something he was happy with for some reason.

“When you have done this as long as I, you know how to look at someone and know exactly what they like.” He grinned, the tips of his glassy fangs showing. Kyrik shivered slightly.

“You get used to that,” Azulia said, taking her seat on the opposite side of the table. She was imposing from where he sat, her wings unfolding and draping over the throne-like structure. Her curved, wicked horns appeared to absorb all the light from this angle.

Her meal was completely carnivorous, covered in juices. A glass filled with blood resided next to her – something that should have bothered Kyrik. But, given his profession and the events he had recently seen, this was a one out of ten on the disturbing scale.

“So,” Azulia spoke after a moment, “I must ask; how did you get in this time?”

Kyrik froze for a moment. “I may have set up a portal somewhere. That only I can pass through.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How interesting. And how did you do that?”

The younger dragon paled under his mask. He didn’t want to expose his little secrets but he also didn’t want to lie to her.

“When I was here for the first time, I set up a few channels. Just in case.”

“Hm,” Azulia chuckled slightly. “I assume your friend could pass through these portals too?”

“I’m not sure if she can alone, but likely.”

“I’m surprised she is not with you.”

Kyrik turned away slightly. “She and I had a…disagreement. We needed space.”

The dull light made her eyes glow for a moment, narrowing before growing soft. “Ah, to be young again. Would you believe that I had days like that at your age? When you become as old as I, you sometimes miss the petty squabbling.”

“How old are you, exactly?” Kyrik questioned.

“It is rude to ask a lady how old they are.” Azulia said, amused.

“You brought it up.” He blinked in confusion. “Surely you must have expected me to ask.”

Witherwing looked at her as if to say ‘he has a point’.

“Truth be told,” Azulia’s gaze drifted down, “I don’t know. It’s irrelevant when you are effectively immortal.”

She was kind of right. If Kyrik had to give her an estimated age, it would be well over two thousand. The little he glimpsed from her past seemed to imply so, anyway.

Still, she was only half right. True, she was immortal in the fact that she never aged. She would see civilizations rise and fall should she play her cards right. Unlike other similar creatures, Azulia had transcended conventional fatalities. Sunlight – the natural bane of her sister species, the Nosferatu– had no effect. Silver did little to no damage and no one got close enough to behead.

Hundreds of would-be hunters had attempted to slay her; all were quickly defeated. Not one came close to wounding – let alone killing. Kyrik doubted he would last long against her, which raised the question if the queen could be killed.

“You look lost,” Azulia brought him back to focus. “More than usual, I might add.”

“Sorry, my mind is everywhere.” Kyrik laughed quietly. “Erm…do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“You’ve never asked permission before.”

True. “Where are your champions? They usually never miss a meal with you.” He paused. “Or am I wrong?”

“Do you really wish to share a meal with Lei?” She chuckled. “I wouldn’t put you through that.”

“Fair enough.” Kyrik nodded hastily. “Also, how in the world is your castle moving around like this?! I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it an enchantment, or something else going on? I need to know because-”

She raised a claw to stop him from rambling. “That’s my little secret.”

Kyrik scowled. “You can’t have me stay here and not try to figure it out.”

“Oh, I expected you to. It is why I am blocking off some areas,” A flash of fangs briefly crossed her muzzle. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Even though we both know you’ll be fine in the end.”

Yup, she was hiding something. How dare she try and limit his exploration instincts! She wanted him to stay the night, fair enough. Locked off from some areas was pushing it too far! He wanted to see everything here, to see how the society worked in this massive castle. In all the times he was here, he never really saw how it was run.

The thought excited him.

There wasn’t much else to talk about at – not that Kyrik liked to talk while he ate anyway. He slowly became more comfortable around her, able to relax slightly. Plus, whatever spices went into this meal was exquisite! Tailor made just for him! Witherwing must be some sort of psychic.

“When are you are ready, I will show you your quarters master Kyrik.” Witherwing said once Kyrik finished.

“I’m not tired.” Kyrik answered blankly.

“I would be concerned if you were,” He smiled kindly, “but you should know where it is regardless.”

“True…” Kyrik jumped out of his seat, feeling rather energized. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to stretch my legs. I won’t go far I promise.” Both stared at him blankly. “I’m serious! I know better than to wander off on my host…”

Azulia waved him off with a roll of her eyes. Trotting over to the door, Kyrik stepped out, watching as the scenery continued to change. In this area, it seemed to be settling. How curious.

Even if he didn’t get to the bottom of it tonight, he was determined to try on each visit now.

***

“Are you certain you wish to do this now?” Witherwing inquired. “He is barely of age, if I recall.”

“I wanted to wait until a few summers from now,” She gently rolled her glass around, watching the liquid swirl. “However, he is vulnerable now. There may not be another chance.”

“What will you do if it doesn’t work?”

“I have other methods.” She smirked. “Alas, provoking or scaring him too much is not an option for now. You have your task as I have mine. I suggest you start yours soon.”

“I have already begun,” A brief hint of concern crossed the withered dragon’s face. “You need only to tell me when.”

With that, Witherwing left. Azulia glanced down at her cup again before closing her eyes. She was so very close, and she would not let Kyrik slip through her grasp.

One way or another, her plan would succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first chapter. But for plot, I went back and added the other.


	3. A Leisurely Stroll

Witherwing moved at a pace that Kyrik struggled to keep up with. It wasn’t too fast nor too slow, but it was in the awkward place where he’d waste more energy over walking or running. Kyrik wanted to say something about it, but it would do little good.

Thankfully, Witherwing stated that they were close. It was when Kyrik started to feel tired, too. The relocation thing must want him to get some exercise in. He had been neglecting his morning flights lately; maybe this was the world’s way of telling him to get back into it.

Wait, why would it promote flying if he was walking?

Regardless, Kyrik’s jaw dropped slightly when he saw his room. It was like an expensive inn – no, better! Drapes and tapestries hung, made of fine silk. His claws sank into the carpet, the feeling between his talons unreal. The bedding itself, he was afraid he would sink into it! On one of the posts, a brown satchel hung; no doubt they expected him to wander regardless.

“I take it that it is to your liking?” Witherwing asked, amused.

“I’d never seen anything like it.” Kyrik answered after a moment, moving to the window. The sun was almost set, the twin moons emerging from beyond the mountains. The castle was hidden away in a valley that lead into an ocean, locked behind magical wards that would obscure it from prying eyes.

Kyrik found this place completely by accident. The wards didn’t exactly work on him, being a reaper, and he just assumed it was a regular abandoned castle.

He was so very wrong.

“Do you wish for anything before I go?”” Kyrik was asked.

“I honestly can’t think of anything right now.” The young reaper continued to stand in awe.

“Very good,” Witherwing left a small bell on a nearby table. “Should you require me, simply ring the bell. I will hear it no matter where I am.”

Before Kyrik could ask how that worked, Witherwing continued.

“I must warn you,” he spoke gravely, “that while you are under my queen’s protection, there are some who may act hostile toward you. I know you will not die; not truly. But you must take caution, for while violence is forbidden, some may create ‘accidents’. I would hate for you to Reincarnate here.”

Kyrik scowled slightly. “Why would they do that?”

“They have their own reasons, but for those already dead, they may assume you are here to send them off. However,” Witherwing smiled, “you have managed to break the ice around my queen’s hearts slightly. I’m sure you can placate them.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Kyrik had half a mind to turn everything over to search for him, but this was not the first nor would it be the last time he did that. Just what was he? It was driving him mad!

Kyrik sat down with a huff. He should probably send word that he was staying here. No doubt he would be searched for – especially since he never mentioned coming here. It’s not like he couldn’t leave, though, but he didn’t want to blow off the…alliance he had here. Was alliance the right term? Something like that.

He pulled out a gem from the satchel around his neck. He had forgotten it was there, being so used to it. It was as part of him as anything else at this point.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind. His mind brushed against another’s, and a connection was established.

“Where were you?” An older, masculine voice asked. An ancient wisdom accented the speaker as well. “Did you fall into another cavern?”

“Does being in Azulia’s castle count?” Kyrik replied. Silence. “Jirmen?”

“I have half a mind to send Kali to drag you back. What are you doing there? You know it’s dangerous to go alone.”

“…You know why I went back.” He shifted his eyes. Not that he needed to.

“I do,” Jirmen’s tone was softer. “But you should have told us. How long will you be there?”

“She’s insisting I stay overnight.”

“Why?”

“She was kinda vague on it. But it’s okay, I wanted to see how stuff worked here anyway.”

“You’re not staying alone. I’m having Kali join you once she gets back. Whatever argument you two had can be put aside for this. I’d come with but you know what happened the last time I left Falmari so I’ll be a bit.”

Kyrik did. “Alright…but the place has changed again. I don’t know where she’ll wind up but I’ll let Azulia know.”

“Actually, it might be better for you to go to meet her without telling anyone. I don’t trust Azulia.” He said flatly.

“Why? She hasn’t been hostile to us.”

“Not openly. I’ve said enough on the matter for now and for all we know, she’s listening to us. Somehow. I wouldn’t put it past her to have ways of doing so.”

With that, the connection was severed. No doubt he expected Kyrik to contact the moment he rediscovered his portal. Opening a new one would likely draw attention, and since everyone was up in claws about it, he decided against it. Plus, exploring!

He exited his quarters and ventured off to the left. It wasn’t like he could go back the way he came, anyway.

This lead him to a…actually, he didn’t know what it was. Two minutes in and he was already lost; a new record! It looked like some sort of hovel or den, with voices carrying over the sound of bubbling water. In the distance, he noted some sort of green sludge. From where he stood, it smelled quite vile; likely some sort of potion. Either that or some sort of food.

Maybe neither?

A lot of undead in this area, too. They scuttled around, stitched together or falling apart. Kyrik didn’t want to presume they were horrors. He’d met quite a few nice ones after all. Their necromancer masters weren’t always evil either, instead using their powers to fight back against those who were. Fight fire with fire, they say.

Kyrik could consider himself to be a necromancer now that he thought about it. He’d blend in perfectly!

When he walked further in, a dragon looked at him. She was sickly in shape, with a notable hunch. Some parts of her blue body were taut and appeared to be rotting. Her one blind eye focused on him with such intensity that Kyrik suspected she could see from it.

The tent, which Kyrik presumed to be her home, held a banner written in green text around a skull. It was the symbol representing the Sect of the Damned, a policing force in the necromantic arts. Similar to how Falmari was a place for magic users, necromancers had a similar place known as the Necropolis. Unlike Falmari, there were three leaders; Terathi the Creator, Magthra the Soulbinder, and Lichlord Zarenus.

Kyrik always wanted to visit it one day, but Jirmen always forbid it for whatever reason. The necromantic arts at Falmari were heavily restricted, and as a result, Kyrik felt stifled in his growth.

“You the new one?” The necromancer snapped.

“New what?” Kyrik raised an eyeridge.

“I was told we had another necromancer to join our coven,” she tilted her head. “You have the breath of death upon you, hatchling. Only those in our work have it.”

He wanted to object to this but remembered Witherwing’s statement. “Oh. Well, I wasn’t informed there was one here. I am just staying the night.”

She sighed in disappointment. “Dammit. I could have used some help.” She peered at him. “Do you mind, actually? I need some help perfecting a brew.”

“You’ve been working on that all day!” A shrill voice came from beyond his vision. “Give it a rest you old wyrm!”

“Quiet!” The necromancer snapped. “Perfection is not swift, Percious!”

“Nor is it this slow, Valir!”

“Should I just,” Kyrik stepped away slightly, “leave you two?”

“Ignore him,” Valir rolled her eyes. “Ever since his spirit had been severed from his body he’s been cranky.”

“Is this common?”

“Unfortunately.” She gestured for him to follow. Before them, a large cauldron with pale bubbling liquid churned inside. Kyrik stared at it, able to separate the various essences and the like. Perks of being a reaper. She was certainly on the right track, but lacked a crucial ingredient; Death Bloom. Hard to find in areas like this, so he couldn’t blame her for forgetting this.

What was she trying to make here?

“Oh, I need it to get him back,” Valir explained casually when asked, “He’s being passive-aggressive again. He’ll say to stop but he wants me to continue.”

“You’re missing Death Bloom.” Kyrik said.

She peered at him. “How did you know?”

Oh, dammit.

“Is it that important?” Kyrik tried to deflect it.

Her eyes narrowed even further before they moved to his necklace. A flicker of recognition crossed her muzzle. “Oh, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Don’t be daft with me; I know what you are.” Valir snapped. “No wonder why I mistook you to be a necromancer.”

“Erm…”

“Don’t worry, I know better than to piss you off. If you’re here, that means my queen wants you to be as well; I’d rather not have her come down again. Still,I would keep that necklace hidden if you don’t want others to know what you are.”

Kyrik frowned slightly. He never really had to do so in the outside world. Then again, many seemed to be drawn to his skull mask first. The questions he got. The requests he received to take it off – which will never happen – and the like.

Unlike the mask, the necklace radiated power. It wasn’t something that most could detect, but as he had just found out, it could be used as an identification. He could conjure a shroud to keep it hidden but that would just create more problems. With a reluctant sigh, he took it off and placed it into his satchel. At least he wouldn’t be conscious of its existance; wearing jewelry and whatnot always made his scales itch.

“Do you have no other means of hiding it?” Valir asked bluntly. He shook his head. “How has nobody guessed it yet?”

“Azulia knows.”

“She knows everything so that’s not surprising.” She had a thoughtful expression. “I don’t suppose you could use your powers this one time to bring him back?”

Kyrik could have just yanked the soul back to the body, but agreed to help finish the potion instead. The less flashy, the better. Valir didn't object if she had any disappointment. Besides, something like this was easy to do. Away from prying eyes, Kyrik dipped a talon into the liquid. It turned white immediately, growing calm as a lake. He withdrew the talon, wiping away the slime that had leaped onto him.

“Ah, that’s perfect.” Valir sampled it. Kyrik raised an eyeridge. “Yes, this will work. My thanks to you….I never got your name.”

“Kyrik.”

“Kyrik, yes.” She poured some of the liquid into a vial. “Well, if you are going to try and pass as a necromancer, you could at least look the part.”

“Define.” Kyrik glanced at the seemingly rotting parts of her again.

“You have the mask; you need a cloak now.”

Before Kyrik could react, a forest green cloak was thrown at his head. He didn’t have time to catch it and it caught in his horns, draping on his face. He walked backwards slightly, trying to shake it off, and eventually succeeded in doing so. It was kind of musty, but otherwise kept clean. Some wear and tear, but it helped sell the look.

Too big, Kyrik thought as he put it on. The hood would fall over his face, and part of the cloak would drag on the floor. A blanket would be the better term for it; felt as heavy as one.

“Don’t trip,” Valir said.

“Trip!” Percious suddenly shouted. “It will bring me pleasure!”

“Shut up, will you?”

Kyrik took that as his cue to leave and stalked past the rest of the coven. The rest of the necromancers didn’t seem to pay him any mind, babbling to themselves or working on new spells. He felt like some sort hatchling under a sheet, scuttling along to prank his sibling or parents. A pang of loss struck him at the thought and he was forced to stop.

Staring at his claw, he could still see the blood. When he blinked, it vanished. He let out a small noise; visions like these began to happen so often lately. He’d wake up screaming, see day-visions of past events, the like. He never experienced anything like it, and Kyrik was starting to grow concerned. Talking with others never really helped, either. Trying to compensate for trauma, he was told.

If it was just his mind processing events, why was it stalling?

Kyrik was met by a pair of winding staircases. Where they lead, nobody knew! It was enough for him to break from whatever tricks his brain pulled, and he craned his neck up. He saw a few occupants near the top, but couldn’t identify what creature they were. Maybe he should go up and ask. Flying up was dangerous in these tight corners, so Kyrik resorted to the slow climb.

Tink!

Kyrik held his head in recoil, nearly tripping off the set of the railing before he caught himself.

“When I heard you were oblivious,” A slightly muffled - but no less imposing - figure spoke, “I didn’t think it would be so literal.”

Kyrik swallowed slightly. He knew who it was, even if he never had a conversation with him. His eyes slowly ran up the ebony and crimson armor that belonged to a tall, bipedal feline. An abysean – the third and final major race to be on two legs.

“Hi um…Lei.” Kyrik said nervously.

The Abysean’s blood-red eyes widened, the only way to tell his expressions, as the lower part of his face was obscured behind a fanged muzzle-like mask. Despite this, the pale ghost-like fur was more than enough to confirm his vampyrism. Even if he didn’t already know, the armor alone would tell Kyrik that he was one of Azulia’s champions.

“A simple ‘hi’?” He towered over Kyrik. “You are nothing like I expected, reaper.”

Somehow, Kyrik wasn’t that surprised he knew. “I’m sorry to disappoint?”

“No, you’re not.” Lei’s eyes narrowed. There was a hidden, malefic mirth in his voice. “I am curious as to what powers you hold. Care to enlighten me?”

“Not here.” Kyrik’s eyes shifted away. “Maybe some other time?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that; I know the perfect location to go!” He laughed and began to walk back up, his metal boots clanking loudly. How did no one notice him come down?

“Were you looking for me?” Kyrik eventually asked.

“No,” He replied. “Yet I’d be remiss if I let you wander the halls alone.”

“I can defend myself.” Kyrik puffed out his chest slightly.

Lei laughed at him. “Then you certainly won’t mind proving it to me.”

Once they reached the top, an unsightly scene that at first Kyrik assumed to be a prank waited for them. Another abysean, face-down in a pool of blood. In her back, a broken piece of bone. She was dead, and recently so.

“Oh,” Lei bent down to investigate. “Now that’s interesting.”

“How could this possibly be interesting?” Kyrik fixated on the bone in horror. He had seen this before. But it was impossible.

He turned back slightly, eyes grinning. “It means that your stay is going to be that more fun…”

**Author's Note:**

> So, apparently this site has an original story section. Nobody told me. I posted a majority of this over at Deviantart, which is linked on my profile. I am testing the waters here. Do keep in mind this work is old (2016-present) so I am painfully aware of the mistakes, but refuse to rewrite so I force my audience to constantly recheck.
> 
> Enjoy, and I'll start adding more to this over time.


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